


Planting

by iarrannme



Series: Planting and other stories [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexual Michelle Jones, Bisexual Peter Parker, Complete, Developing Relationship, Emotional Baggage, Emotions, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, F/M, Feminist Themes, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Joyful, Love, MJCU (Michelle Jones Cinematic Universe), Michelle Jones-centric, Mild Kink, POV Bisexual Character, POV Michelle Jones, Parent-Child Relationship, Philosophy, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home Mid-Credits Scene, Sexual Content, Sexual Humor, Sexual Tension, Teen Romance, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 10:10:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20226145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iarrannme/pseuds/iarrannme
Summary: You’re smart enough to figure out Spider-Man, brave enough to mace a drone AND tell Peter you like him.  That should be it, right?  The hard part should be over?Or, Michelle Jones deals with dating Peter, and dating a superhero, and those being the same thing: MJ's POV of the end of Far From Home and beyond.





	1. Reaching

Peter reaches for your carry-on during boarding, but you scotch that with a look. He doesn’t argue, too busy hiding his limp, watching everyone, and occasionally tapping his glasses or muttering to himself.

Brad’s eyeballing you and Peter. He’s holding two coffees; you’d bet a mint-condition _Coal_ he’s about to smugly offer you one while blatantly ignoring Peter.

Brad’s really nice sometimes, but _rawr, must crush my man-rival and claim the prize_ is getting old. _Peter’s_ attempted kindness wasn’t a performance to one-up Brad. You slide your gaze blankly past Brad, then turn back to the head of the line. If Brad wants to be paranoid that you’re standing close enough to Peter to mean something, that’s not your problem.

Peter’s moving better than an hour ago, though he’s still tense and slow. What _did_ he say to Harrington to explain his reappearance? You were ready to claim you’d asked Peter to travel with you - Harrington wouldn’t have believed any Ned-and-Betty syrup, not from you, but if you’d played the trauma card he might have gone for it. He’s been hovering around Peter, looking like he’s got trauma cards of his own. Hmm. Just because he’s noticed the limp? Or has he put together the same data you did and decided not to ask awkward questions? Harrington’s a dork, but he’s not stupid.

You and Ned keep a little bubble around Peter during boarding. Harrington tries to seat Peter next to him, but one _boh_ is enough. Brad requires more effort. He tries to slide in on your other side from the far aisle; you say, “Nope.”

“MJ, you’re really gonna –”

“Brad. Did you know I don’t even _like_ pigeons? Swarming you because they think they’re entitled to your food? Climbing up your arm even when you’re not encouraging them? Pecking at you until you consider violence to make them go away? And you don’t do that, because it would be an unfair contest, but if you had to, you could.”

Brad gets the hint. Brad goes away.

Peter lowers himself carefully into his seat, then sees you looking at him and smiles. “Hey.”

Your face tries to simultaneously smile and keep up your mask of indifference, and you wind up doing a weird smirk-grimace twitch. “Hey, dork.”

He’s still hypervigilant. You have nothing else to say right now either, so you pull out _The Bluest Eye_. It’s hard to get lost in reading, though, when his leg keeps bouncing up and down.

Eventually you murmur, “Is there gonna be more drama? Or is this just come-down jitters? Tell any supervillains I’m trying to read here.”

He snorts softly. “Pretty sure it’s just me.”

The last passengers straggle up the aisle. You shift your foot a couple inches, so the side of your calf touches Peter’s. He sighs, and stops jiggling his leg, but doesn’t move it away.

“MJ? Can you – can you tell me something only you would know?”

You flick your eyes to him.

“I – I know you’re really you, I don’t actually sense any danger, but – it would help me. Please?”

You lean over. “During our third kiss, you held my shoulder. Your hand kept flexing and relaxing, like you wanted to grip harder but you didn’t want to hurt me.” You sit back and resume reading. Dammit, now you’re distracted. _Your hand in his hair –_

When you glance over, he’s taken off the glasses and finally looks mostly relaxed. You silently hand him the Chanda Prescod-Weinstein biography you finished earlier. He makes sure his hand touches yours as he takes it.

You take your hand back quickly, skin tingling. “Uh – sorry – I –” Your hand twitches as though to undo your withdrawal.

He sees you glance around at the other passengers and says gently, “It’s ok.” He settles back with the book. “Thanks.” Out of sight, his foot nudges yours. You nudge back.

* * *

Three hours pass. One meal down, and most of your book. You’ve each shifted position several times, but you always wind up with shoulders touching, or knees, or feet.

You’d really like to hold Peter’s hand.

For the third time in the last ten minutes, his head slowly falls forward, then jerks back up. At least he’s not wincing with movement anymore.

What, exactly, are you afraid of?

Who’s going to see you? Ned and Betty across the aisle, Zoha or Yasmin on your other side? Harrington or Dell? Any of them would be happy for you. Random nobodies won’t care, and you don’t care if they do. Flash is up in first class, and if he snarks you’ll destroy him. So, what? You can’t possibly be letting the idea of _Brad_ disapproving hold you back. (He’s probably spent the entire time either staring at you or hiding from you, but you’re not looking to see which.)

This is some emotions-are-weakness, openness-is-scary stuff, isn’t it?

You know all the reasons you have that particular fear. _Villains who know about us will try to kill me or use me_ is only the latest, and you’re not having it. Plenty of people get hurt or used; how many have a freaking superhero who would do anything to protect them?

If you and Peter are going to work out, you’re going to have to let him see you. Even if it means other people see you too.

When hiding is no longer an option, it’s time to pick up the mace and swing straight at your fear.

You sit up straight. Nudge Peter.

He jerks awake again. “Whza?”

You tap your shoulder, not quite looking at him. “Headrest. Drool on me and I’ll send Flash a picture.”

He looks silly trying to smile delightedly around a huge yawn, but you’ll take it. He links his arm with yours and leans into you. “Dork.”

“No, that’s you and Ned. Dork and Dork 2: Electric Boogaloo. _I_ am –”

“Kinda bony-shouldered and talkative for a pillow.” He adds hastily, “But I like that! All the best pillows are –”

“Shut up, loser.” You’re _not_ smiling. (You’re smiling.)

Betty reaches across the aisle to snag the book out of his loosening grasp. She looks at it, then raises her eyebrows at you. You nod permission.

Hmm. Betty and Ned have the armrest down between them, and they’re not holding hands. Your eyebrow quirks, but you don’t pursue it. If this is a Fact rather than merely a fact, you’ll know soon enough.

You turn back to your book. Eighty more pages. It’s awkward holding it one-handed, but Peter’s snagged your other hand to play sleepily with your fingers. Focusing on the book will keep you from sitting there with a big stupid smile on your face.

Maybe in a few minutes you’ll even squeeze back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The MJCU (Michelle Jones Cinematic Universe) tag was first used by cosmicwritings. Try [their MJ-Peter fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicwritings/pseuds/cosmicwritings/works?fandom_id=32833447) next!
> 
> Books mentioned are _Coal_ by Audre Lorde and _The Bluest Eye_ by Toni Morrison.
> 
> “Harrington’s a dork, but he’s not stupid.”: [Hamster wheel with no brakes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21179543)


	2. Swinging

How did he talk you into this? Ok, ok: nothing like an adventure for a first date, right?

_No!_ You just had an adventure, it _sucked_, why on earth would you want another one?

Well … the first one gave you enough adrenaline to finally kiss Peter …

No. No. Oh hell no, you are not gonna need one of you to almost die again before you kiss that boy another time.

He _is_ good at it. (The web-swinging. Not the kissing. … Yet. He … he probably just needs practice. Hmm.)

If you can handle killer drones and admitting actual feelings, you can handle anything.

How bad can it be?

“You ready?”

“Sure.”

* * *

HOW DID HE TALK YOU INTO THIS???

* * *

He definitely notices you hyperventilating. And your legs squeezing his hips extra-tightly just before your eyes widen and you look hastily away, quickly unwrapping your legs and standing on your own. He probably even sees you blushing faintly, damn him.

Telling Peter truths you’re nervous about is one thing. Having him just … be all perceptive at you like that is another. It feels threatening to be read that intimately, even if your attraction is a truth he’s allowed to know now.

On the other hand, you catch how he’s in no hurry to set you down, and the answering squeeze from his hands supporting your legs, before he immediately lets go once you move. Hmm. Maybe not entirely a threat. Maybe … secret communication channel.

Your breathing is gradually slowing. Of course you say you’re ok, but … “I’m _never_ doing that again.”

“Oh. OK.” He’s a little hurt. The mask may hide his face, but his body language and voice have always been an open book.

You say your goodbyes, and he leaps to the top of the lamp-post. Spidey athleticism is much more enjoyable as a spectator from solid ground.

What _can_ he perceive, anyway? Time to get a handle on the threat – or the possibilities. “Nice suit,” you murmur as quietly as you can. “Very form-fitting.”

Did he just stretch a little? Tense a leg unnecessarily?

You need a better test. “Nice … form.” Oh yeah, that was a subtle loss of balance and quick recovery right there, and he’s turning back to you –

Your science experiment is interrupted by Mysterio telling the whole world Peter’s name and making it look like _Peter_ was the murderous egomaniac. You’re not impressed. _Betraying him while you were alive wasn’t enough? Loser._

Peter’s shock is obvious. He turns towards you, stops, and yanks out his phone instead. Where does he even keep it? You just spent a terrifying interlude wrapped as closely around him as physically possible and there was certainly no phone in the way. _Ok, don’t get caught drooling – again. Pretend he’s wearing cargo shorts_.

He is _not_ wearing cargo shorts. He almost might as well be wearing noth- your phone buzzes.

_get hidden  
go home_

_screw that  
my turn to protect you_

People are starting to point at him. “Orwell was wrong: objective truth does exist,” you tell them. “Mysterio’s lying and that video is faked.”

“Like you know!” someone says dismissively.

You’re about to totally own him, when whoosh, you’re grabbed and swinging again. “He’s taking a hostage!” fades below as you bite down on a scream. Fortunately – for Peter – he lets you go on the nearest roof, pulling his mask off.

You don’t wait for him to speak. “I told you _never again_! I was gonna own that dude so hard he’d’ve sneezed his own socks, ok? I didn’t need rescue! If there’s an Avengers thing I can’t escape on my own, fine, save me, even if it means swinging. Otherwise, no saving, no swinging! None.”

“Two people had guns! But, ok, they weren’t reaching for them, so … maybe I did jump on saving you too fast.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m just _so_ tired of putting my friends in danger.” He smiles slightly. “I bet the sock-sneezing is amazing.”

Good enough for now. You give him your best smirk. “I can make people sneeze socks they aren’t even wearing.” _Oh, there’s that grin_. You’ve had his smiles memorized for longer than he needs to know. Not obsessed, just observant.

The grin doesn’t last long. “I gotta call Happy. I don’t know what to do. Mr. Stark told everybody who _he_ was, but he was already grown up and rich … I gotta go, there could already be people on the way to grab May, and somebody probably saw you with me, and everybody knows Ned’s my friend, and … I’m just scared, ok?”

“Go. I’ll call Ned. You don’t have to handle this alone.” You give him a quick hug, and he flips backwards over the edge of the roof. You don’t let yourself imagine what that must’ve been like.

* * *

Ned opens the videochat with, “I’m figuring out who released that clip.”

You shake your head. “Happy has way more computer support and he’s already on it. Anyway we need you to do something else.”

“I really like being the guy in the chair though.”

“Fine, I really like hugging the Peter part –” If he’d been drinking he would have spit it all over his screen. You grind your teeth. “I really like _the hugging Peter part_, but that’s not all I’m gonna do. It’s our turn to save him. We need Betty.”

“Betty? I … I’m not sure ... I mean, we’re moving on maturely, like a man and a woman do …”

You give him the look that deserves. He shuts up. “And Flash – no, listen. They have way more followers than we do. If we get everybody to post the truth about Peter and they link to them – Betty could interview people Peter's helped, make it look sorta official.”

“I just don’t want to hurt her. I mean, it hasn’t even been – and we were each other’s first love – and when she sees it’s from me –”

“NED.” Sympathy is Peter’s job.

* * *

_are you ok_  
_tell me youre ok_  
_may is fine_  
_happy has her in a safe place_  
_is ned ok_  
_did you find ned_  
_hes not answering texts_

_both fine_  
_busy_  
_betty got morita to let us use the media lab_

_??_

_sock-sneezing preparations_  
_ive never pwned a dead dude before_  
_well some old dead white guy philosophers i guess_  
_anyway gotta go_

_k_  
_can i see you later_  
_maybe you can tell me about the sex_  
_SOCKS_  
_OMG SOCKS_  
_I SWEAR I TYPED SOCKS_  
_the phone autocorrected i swear oh god im gonna die_

_told you not to text and swing_  
_bet tony made your phone autocorrect for what youre thinking_  
_ill tell you when_

_k_  
_wait_  
_you mean when to find you tonight_  
_right_  
_?_

_yeah that too ;)_

_uh_  
_heh_  
_wow_  
_ok_

_kinda cant believe i just said that_  
_gonna blame the adrenalin_

_i REALLY like you_

_i know_

* * *

_ok im on the school roof_  
_betty has our part done_  
_happy got the debunking up_  
_said nick fury is doing something too_

_wait how do you even have his number_

_dude i maced a drone in front of him_  
_he and I are solid_  
_i told him what id do to anyone who hurt you_  
_Also, I used periods and capitalization in texts to him._  
_he fears me_

_um wow ok_  
_be right there_

* * *

You sit on the edge to wait, your first moment of inaction in hours. If you’d known your first date would end with Peter unmasked and accused of murder, you’d have expected to be tense and terrified right now. Like your first Academic Decathlon meet: something that felt too big waiting to crush you, anxiety you hid from everyone. But instead, after hours of stepping up and dealing with it, it feels more like the meets you captained the team through: a lot, but you’re determined and you don’t have to do it alone.

At least you’re all done spiraling over whether anyone realizes Michelle Jones has feelings – that problem feels laughably small now. _Fuck you, Mysterio and friends, he’s **mine** and if you mess with us you better hope Pepper and Happy and SHIELD and the Avengers find you first._

Your phone buzzes. It’s your mom.

_Gina and I are home safe._  
_How’s the Peter Protection Project going?_  
_How are you feeling?_

_done, and … scared but not panicked_  
_i love you_  
_tell gina I said thanks for coming_

_She says remember what we said_  
_If you and Peter need to get out of town_  
_Love you too_

You hear him land on the roof. He pulls off his mask and sits next to you, elbowing you. “Hey.”

You elbow him back. “Hey. That was suspiciously fast. Were you lurking? I bet you were lurking.”

“Boh!”

“That’s _my_ word. No stealing my word.”

He grins unrepentantly. “I saw what you and Ned and Betty and everybody did. Thanks.” He runs his hand through his hair again; your fingers twitch. His eyes flick to them. “Good thing I said no to the cover-up, that coulda been awkward.”

“You wh – oh no, did we mess it up –”

“No, my decision. And my fault for not asking why you were in the media lab.”

You snort. “And mine for not telling you our plans. I hate that we’ll _need_ to be better at communicating and planning for emergencies, but …”

He shrugs. “Yeah. Thank you though, really. It’s weird to have so many people trying to protect me. I mean, it’s good, I’m just used to hiding as me and protecting as Spider-Man, so _not_ hiding and _being_ protected are … I feel funny about it. ’Course there’s people saying all of you and even Mr. Stark are the ones who were fooled.”

“Yeah well. Losers gonna lose.”

A quick smile. “I’m still nervous. Happy says May and I have to move to a secure location, only she doesn’t want to, and I …” He glances at you. “I don’t want to either.”

You take his hand. “We’ve all got your back. Look at all the people posting about you. Everybody and their parents. Mr. Harrington and Mr. Dell – he’s bummed it was tech instead of witches. Lots of people from Queens, some from London, three Dutch dudes talking about jail? Pepper. Bunch of Avengers. Um, even Liz.”

He looks wistful for a split second, then squeezes your hand and sighs. “I just wanna be the friendly neighborhood spider-man. And a high school student.”

Even if “there there, honey” were your style, it’s too obvious he’ll never fly under the radar again. So, different tack. You raise one eyebrow. “I think there’s something else you want.”

His hand tightens on yours, and he doesn’t break eye contact. “I …” He takes a breath. “Will you tell me what swinging with me was like for you?”

You blink and stiffen. That is _not_ what you want to be thinking about right now. Or ever.

He laces his fingers with yours. “It’s so _amazing_ for me – swooping, feeling what my body can do, figuring out paths no one else can take, and the wind, like, whoosh! – did you know I can _fly_, well, glide, it’s just, wow –”

You’ve seen Peter cover up nervousness with babbling before. He _is_ nervous now, but there’s joy and wonder bubbling up that you’ve seen only glimpses of in him since – Oh. Since before the Snap/Blip. When apparently Spider-Man and Iron Man each died in the other’s arms. No wonder you’ve seen looks on Peter’s face this last year that might have gone into your People In Crisis sketchbook, except it seemed cruel. Like something too sad and private to mock.

“– and the _views_, it’s _so_ cool. I, I wanted to share that with you, ‘cause it’s the most special thing about being Spider-Man, I wanted you to have it too. And, um … I know it didn’t work out that way. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Will you tell me about it?”

You’re not used to taking care not to squish someone else’s joy, much less while you tell them exactly how they’ve screwed up. You sigh. “I could see how excited you were, and it sounded … like something dangerous I couldn’t control, but I trusted you, so … the screaming probably sounded like I was scared out of my mind, but I wasn’t. Quite. But you fucking dropped me. You were holding my hand, but I was for-real falling, Peter, I … At least in London I could run, or hide, or grab a mace and fight back. I … I spout random death facts when I’m nervous, but actually facing it that close … I’m not that good at this. I didn’t expect to have another ‘these are my last few seconds’ moment during our date.”

He’s holding your hand almost too tightly, looking totally stricken. _OK, too much, lighten up_. “I’m gonna start carrying fresh strawberries everywhere, in case of tigers.” Not even a blink. You add thoughtfully, “They shoulda let me keep that mace.” That gets a half-second grin.

He takes a deep breath. “Thank you for telling me. I’m really sorry, MJ. I’m sorry I dropped you, I knew that was bad, but, um … I guess I didn’t think about the whole thing making you feel out of control.”

You cross your arms, shivering. “I really like you, Peter. But that was kind of dumbass. Don’t be a dumbass, I don’t date those.”

He very gently swipes his thumb along your cheekbone, which is a little wet for some reason. “I’ll try really hard not to. That’s Brad’s job anyway.”

“I’m not dating _him_. _Why_ didn’t you think it through? Especially the not-dropping-me part.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I was so relieved to be home and have it all over with – I thought. We were all alive. I’d gotten to tell you how I felt, and oh-my-god you felt it back. I was gonna get to share this utterly amazing part of my life with you … and um since I am trying to be really honest here, I, uh –”

“You knew we’d be holding onto each other and you were excited about that too.” Once you would have said it mockingly, to hide any hint that you felt the same. Now you can say it like a dare to agree.

“Uhhhhh … yes?” He sneaks a glance at your face. “Um …”

You don’t leave him hanging. “I was looking forward to that too.”

“Heh. Yeah. Um … sorry, distracted.” He coughs. “I didn’t think about how much my powers freaked _me_ out before I got control. I’ve learned to … trust my body, trust that when I leap there’ll be something to web to, that I’ll be able to keep moving and not get hurt. Mostly. I don’t think about, I’m stronger, I’m, uh, stickier. I just do it. It never occurred to me to think of you as _less-than_, and it should ha- ohhhh, that came out so wrong. I mean not having powers, that’s all, I should’ve been more careful. You’re not _less-than_, you’re _amazing_. I know you know but I wanna say it. I never want to make you feel less-than. I’m trying to figure this all out and I’m sorry I messed up. I’ll do better, I promise.”

You uncross your arms and take his hand again. “It still freaks me out. But: okay. There’s been a lot going on.”

“Yeah.”

You both sigh and lean into each other. He starts rubbing your back.

You close your eyes. _This, I could get used to_. “I really did like the, uh, hugging-you part of it. That was … nice, actually. I’d do that again.”

His arm tightens around you briefly. “I really liked that part too.”

“Then next time you want to hug me, just ask. ‘Swing with me’ is too contrived.”

He grins. “OK. No dumbassery; ask for hugs; no saving.”

“Except for imminent death. Then saving. And no swinging.”

“Then saving, ok. And other than that, no sw—” Pause. “MJ … do you trust me? Like, a lot? If I promise no dumbassery?”

You look at him. He waits. You look at him some more. He waits some more. “… OK. No swinging unless there’s a big nasty creeping up behind me, but … ok. What are you hoping I’ll trust you for?”

“No big nasty. But – three things. One, every bad guy out there knows me now. Sooner or later someone’s gonna try something. And they’ll think that May or Ned or … or you will be easier to hurt, or that I’ll do anything to keep that from happening.”

You nod. “I haven’t been home yet.”

“Happy’s working on security for you and your family – but … I really might have to swing with you again sometime. Two, who knows who else I might have to swing or how much it might scare them. So the trusting thing is: can we practice? See if we can make it better? Take it really slow? If even going slow is too much, then we stop.”

You take refuge from the idea in humor. “Are we talking about socks again? Sounds like we’re talking about socks.”

He closes his eyes. “Oh my god, just … just please don’t tell Ned about that. Or anybody.”

Too much to resist. You lean in close and put a concerned hand on his shoulder. “Is this when I should tell you about … The Socks? Some people like socks that match, and some people like socks that don’t. _I_ like socks that match _or_ that don’t! Some people have a favorite pair of socks and some people have a pair for every day of the week. Some people like thick socks, some people like thin socks, some people wear two pairs at once, and some people skip socks entirely …”

He buries his face in his hands. “I’m never gonna live that down, am I?” There’s laughter in his voice.

“If I had some kind of super-heat-vision, your face would be totally glowing right now, wouldn’t it?”

“… Yes.”

“Because if it’s not, I can keep going! Natural versus synthetic fabrics, orthotics, those vibrating foot massagers …”

He loses the battle not to giggle. You win your battle to dare tickling him. You may now be the only person in the world who’s heard Spider-Man squeak. You stop after that, magnanimous in victory. Besides, now you know his _real_ secret.

You cross your arms. Blow your hair out of your eyes. “So what’s the third thing?”

“Um. It’s kind of the biggest, I probably shouldn’t even –”

“Dude. Bigger than planning on you swinging me again to save me from something horrible, probably with tentacles?” Oh, that grin. You don't even care when he catches you staring at his mouth.

“OK, if you put it _that_ way.” He bites his lip. “I want another chance.”

“You what now?”

“I want to figure out – _with you_ – how to make it amazing. How to do it together –”

“Peter.” You know he feels you tense, because he stops talking even before you speak. A corner of your brain is delightedly replaying ‘do it together’ and ‘make it amazing’ and ‘_with you_,’ but the rest is NOPE.

“I’m sorry. I just – no. I’m sorry.” He sighs.

You put your arm back around him. He leans his head on your shoulder. You don’t like his idea, but, what, are you going to break up with him because losers might try to use you against him? Or passively dread being swung without doing anything about it? You brush his hair out of your nose. “If I’m not going to feel so out of control, I need to be facing the same way you are. But that means I’ll have to be on your back. What’ll that do to your balance?”

“We’ll learn to handle it. And how to hold you on better. I really am sorry about that.”

“Peter.” You surprise yourself by actually being amused. “You apologized. You meant it. I accepted it. Do it again and you’ll be sneezing socks for a year. We clear?” You don’t wait for his answer, but bump his head up with your shoulder and kiss him. Neither of you knows what you’re doing yet, but the more you practice the sooner you’ll figure it out.

“Can we do that again?” You can. You do. Turns out running both hands through his hair is just as nice as you’ve imagined.

* * *

“So, piggyback? I feel good about gripping you with my legs – uh –” You do the accidental, embarrassing kind of innuendo just fine. “To feel like I have some control? Because my legs are strong.” Yep, babbling afterwards will absolutely cover that up.

“I noticed. After we landed earlier,” he adds helpfully. “For just a moment there –”

“Shut up, Parker.” You are _not_ going to blush. Sexual shame is a tool of the patriarchy and you do _not_ consent to it lurking in your own damn brain.

He’s grinning, but relents. “Piggyback, or you standing right behind me? Either way, we web your legs and torso to me so it’s not just you hanging on. Having your arms free might help you feel less out of control. If it works, I’ll make a new suit with auto-deploy straps.”

“Piggyback first – I wanna ride the Night Monkey! No swinging yet, let’s just figure out the webs.”

If you want something, and you know feeling awkward about it is just internalized _good-girls-don’t_ crap, then … if you refuse to _act_ embarrassed, will that make it true? Experimental results are promising, so afterwards you suggest piggy-_front_.

He gets that grin again. “If you want to kiss me, just ask –”

After you’re both out of breath, you try his idea. It’s a weirdly intimate process figuring out how to bind your bodies together without restricting motion or blood flow. You fall over more than once when one of you overcorrects for the other’s movement.

With anyone else, or with him until tonight, ending up in tangled piles together would have been desperately awkward. But you treat your bodies like an interesting puzzle and refuse to be embarrassed. Especially once “oops, we fell over again” becomes a game. (You start the first round. He starts the second.) Extra especially after you suggest searching for advice “because there’s a whole community into this, and clearly we don’t know what we’re doing.” Peter panics (“MJ! This is a Stark phone! Happy can probably see anything on it!”), and the look on his face makes you laugh until you snort.

Why were you so scared of flirting with him? Even once you were sure he was watching you? This is way more fun than you realized. _Suck on that, patriarchy! Mine, loser villain dorks – **mine**!_

Eventually you figure out how to stand and walk together without immediately falling over. And then there you are, webbed together front-to-back, feeling every little muscle-shift and knowing he’s just as attuned to you.

He inhales and swallows, raising his hand to yours where they’re crossed over his chest. He has the mask back on, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “Ready?”

You look over the side of the building. Only four stories. Only. “Um. Tell me exactly what we’re doing. Exactly the path, all the moves, everything.” _Yes, Peter, tell me all about your moves. No! Shut up! We are taking a break from horny right now!_

“Just down and back up. Jump, web to the top of that lamp-post, swing, at the top of the arc I release the web, we flip and land. Then climb back up here.”

“Nope. No flipping. Not _any_ flipping tonight.”

“Mmm … if we don’t do it that way … we could swing back and forth a few times to lose the momentum.”

“Can we climb down, then web to the lamp-post and swing back and forth a little? We _just_ figured out how to walk together like this, jumping off a building sounds … stupid. I trust you to handle the climbing. The tiny swinging even sounds fun. But don’t get smug.”

He nods and takes his mask off, turning his head to you. “Thank you for trusting me. And for saying no. I like that I can trust you to say no.” He swallows. “And to ask for what you want, too.”

You almost look away, but – no. Instead you look down his body and back up to meet his eyes, raising an eyebrow at him challengingly. “What if I ask for too much? Can I trust you to say no, too?”

“Are we talking about socks again? Sounds like we’re talking about socks.”

You flick him under the chin. “Yes, Peter, we’re talking about socks.”

He catches your hand and kisses your palm. “I promise.”

Then he puts the mask back on and, on him, you go down. The building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “_may is fine_”/”Um, even Liz”: [O the strength of webs we weave](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20355436)
> 
> “your first moment of inaction in hours”: [Species](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21292040)
> 
> “Good thing I said no to the cover-up”: [Run – run – run – jump – now breathe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20593532).
> 
> "_tell gina I said thanks for coming_": [Jigsaw](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21087410)


	3. Dancing

Being webbed to Peter’s back while he free-climbs down a four-story building ought to be scary, but compared to running away from exploding buses and killer drones? Oddly restful. It feels good to use your own strength to hang on, better to know the webbing is backing you up, and best to feel your bodies moving together.

He goes slowly. At first he forecasts every shift, but soon you say, “Shh, let me concentrate on feeling how you move … You’re _grinning_. Aren’t you.”

“… Maybe.” Definitely. “OK, I’ll stop talking so you can concentrate. On how I move.” He shimmies his hips, then adds some slower body rolls, all with his hands and feet still stuck to the wall, but wow, just … fluid. You shiver. He says, “Kinda can’t believe I just did that. Gonna blame the adrenalin.”

If _he’s_ going to be brave … You slide your hands down to grab his hips. “Dare you to do that again.” This time, you match him. “I need webbing _under_ my feet. Something to stand on. Can’t move _with_ you if I’m hanging _off_ you.” Because you’re totally cool enough to solve practical engineering problems with _that_ going on. Before you can chicken out, you add, in your most nonchalant voice, “Did you know the French expression ‘la petite mort,’ literally ‘the little death,’ refers to orgasm?”

He falls off the wall. He actually literally falls off the wall. He catches it again after you’ve only slipped about a foot, but … heh. You lean your head in over his shoulder. “Yes, Peter?”

You feel him trying not to laugh. He leans his forehead against the wall. “I really do like you, MJ.”

“So you’ve said.” _I could – am I really gonna – I owe him for that shimmy and that, that, whatever that was with his whole body_. You do a slow hip-roll against his back. His grip on the wall tightens as he matches you. _Gotcha._ Now you get what Betty was on about, not that you haven’t been imagining– _Uh. Words. Outside voice. Say something_. “This wall-climbing thing _is_ fun, but if you’re gonna lose your grip like that, maybe we should get off it. You promised tiny swinging.”

He tries to side-eye you through the mask. “Let me take the landing. Just gonna push off and drop, ok?”

“And let’s not swing right under a light. That’s where moths go to die.”

“I know where there’s a good overhang. Wanna run?”

“Not like this.”

He de-webs you. You promptly tickle him, but he immediately discovers your own dark secret, so you quickly call a truce.

“This way – bet you can’t catch me!” He takes off running. You lean against the wall and wait. He comes back shortly.

“I’ll compete with you when I have a fair chance or when I’ll win. Tickling, board games, sure: I’ll kick your ass at Scotland Yard. But if we’re running, we run together.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What if I don’t want to compete when we know you’ll win?”

You grin. “Then say no and I’ll stop tickling you.”

He takes your hand. “You’re on for the board games.”

* * *

This time he adds web slings for your feet. “So really small swings? What will feel ok for you?”

You feel good after the wall-climbing. _Wish we’d gotten to dance together at the carnival_. “Let’s go bigger. If it were real we’d probably be jumping out a window or something, so run and jump to get us started?”

You wrap your arms around his chest. He takes off. You try matching his running so you aren’t just dragged along, but it’s awkward. Still impressive. If that’s how fast and powerfully he can go when you’re this unpracticed … wow. As he leaps, you decide to trust the webbing. You let go and reach out along his arms, following his movements as he cast webs to either side. You feel him tensing to take the weight as the webs anchor and you began the first big swing.

Whoosh. You’re paying so much attention to how it feels that you forget to scream. “It’s like standing on a swing at the playground. A really big swing, and I’m, uh, webbed to it.”

“Yeah. You ok?” Whoosh.

_OK, relax, dating is maybe not a maze full of deadly pit traps and vipers after all, there are tigers in the past and probably tigers in the future but right now is strawberries_. “Yeah, actually, I am.” You put your arms back around his chest and hug him. 

“I’d hug you back, but, uh, busy being the swing.”

“Can I take your mask off? I’ll stick it between us.”

“Uh, I guess. If anybody comes, I’ll want it back quick. Might have to get us out of here, or put you down and fight, or –”

“If anybody comes through here and even looks like bothering us, I will hurl withering scorn upon them until they shrivel up and die and mummify. I will boh them into oblivion. So that’ll be all right.” You pull the mask off carefully and stuff it between you, then run your hands through his hair. He closes his eyes and tips his head back. You run the backs of your fingers down the sides of his face.

He sighs happily, then opens his eyes and smiles. “So are the shrivel-die-mummify and sock-sneezing scorn the same? Or have you diversified?”

“Oh, do not mock my scorn. I am … the boh-ss of scorn.” Definite side-eye that time. You shrug. _He likes me even when I’m a total dork. See, it really is ok._

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. You swing in companionable silence. You rest your chin on his shoulder and close your eyes, feeling him occasionally tense and shift his weight to keep you moving. So on the next arc, you shift your weight as you would on a standing swing, murmuring, “This swing is slowing down. How do I pump this thing?”

His giggles set you twisting a little, and it takes a few overcorrections before you’ve figured out your cooperation to straighten yourselves out. You build your momentum back up together, then relax again and just let yourselves swing.

After a moment you say, “This is fun. Thanks for doing something less exciting.”

“I like it too. I’ve never gotten to just relax with this and share it. Can we go dancing sometime? I wish we’d gotten to in Europe.”

“I was thinking that earlier. This is kinda like it, though. And on the wall …”

He grins, blushing. “I thought maybe for once I’d give you more trouble than you give me.”

“Now _there’s_ an even competition I can get behind.” Speaking of – since this isn’t just safety practice – you flatten your hands on his chest and nuzzle his neck. Why does that costume have to go so high, his collarbones are just …

He closes his eyes and arches a bit. “No fair, I can’t give anything back!”

“Peter, are you kidding me? You’re giving me the best part of your life right now. And I can feel every muscle shift in your amazing body so don’t even pretend I’m totally cool and unaffected back here. Aren’t we done pretending that?” _Uh whoa mouth, that was our outside voice_.

“Tell me more about my amazing body.” Purely by coincidence, or not, he chooses that moment to start amping the swing back up. _OK … game on._ You match his movements; that ought to tell him. He grins.

Whoosh. Whoosh.

“So … what’s the most fun you’ve ever had doing this crazy-ass stunt you call normal travel?”

“Heading to meet you for our date today, because I was so excited to share my crazy-ass stunt with you, and also I was gliding. Before that it was this one rainy Saturday, I spent the entire afternoon finding glass buildings to slide on. That is _soooo_ much fun you wouldn’t even believe.”

“So if you get tired of superheroing you can either hire out as a window washer or write _The Guide to New York City Architecture, by Spider-Man_.”

“You should be a guidance counselor.”

“Yeah, I’d be great. ‘None of your choices matter, kids, everyone dies in the end.’”

You know he can tell you’re joking, but after a moment he says softly, “_All_ of your choices matter, kids. Everyone dies in the end.” You realize he’s thinking about Tony. Or maybe Mysterio. Or Natasha. Ben. His parents. Even Thanos. You hug him extra hard.

Whoosh.

Whoosh.

Whoosh.

“So … socks that match _or_ that don’t …”

“Ah, you _were_ listening.”

“I always pay attention to you.”

“I like it better now that you’re not trying to hide it. Though your attempts were cute. You weren’t nearly as sneaky as you thought.”

“Maybe I wanted you to catch me. Anyway you pretended like you weren’t paying attention to me either.”

“Maybe I wasn’t. Maybe I was staring at Zoha. Or that poster of Captain America being all, ‘brush your teeth every day’ or whatever.”

“Mm yeah he has a goofy expression on that one though. The ‘study hard’ one is better.”

“… Peter, are you telling me you _also_ like socks that match or that don’t?”

“Um … maybe? I mean, hanging around with the Avengers … I’m surrounded by freakily gorgeous people with unbelievable bodies, and they’re doing unbelievable things with them, and … mostly wearing very tight suits, and … um …”

“It’s intense?”

“Yeah.”

Whoosh.

You shift your arms a little. “So …”

“So, what?”

“So, Captain America or Thor?”

“Oh my god. Um. Captain America from the back and Thor from the front?”

“Thor or Black Panther?”

“Black Panther, easy. Scarlet Witch or Shuri?”

“Uh … do I have to pick?”

“Heh, no.”

“I mean Shuri’s a total science babe.”

“She totally is.”

“And they’ve both got amazing eyes.”

“They do.”

“And I can’t believe I’m cuddling with my boyfriend mutually thirsting over your fellow Avengers.”

“It’s not like I can have this conversation with anyone else.”

“What, would May or Ned or Happy care what kind of socks you like?”

“No, no, they’d be fine with that. I just mean with you I can, um, talk about any of them. You’re the first person I’ve really talked about it with anyway.”

“While in a full-body-contact web situation we’re both enjoying – did I mention some people like to tie their socks in knots?” He laughs. “You were completely right about the third thing. I’m not ready for all the spinny twisty flippy bits, but I could see getting there. It’s … feeling every little shift in your body and matching each other’s moves or pulling against the webs to get even closer … um …”

“It’s intense?”

“Yeah.”

“So … we do need to practice for big nasties or whatever, but maybe tonight we could just enjoy it. I could really, _really_ use a break. And this one's even nicer than I thought it would be.”

You tighten your arms around him. He can’t turn his head far enough for a real kiss, but you manage a brief one. Whoosh.

“Speaking of practicing for big nasties AND doing something fun AND this position sucks for kissing you AND all the people you’d like not to scare if you ever have to swing them …”

“Wow, that’s speaking of a lot of things at once.”

“I am large, I contain multitudes. But as for other people: forget ’em.”

“Whoa, that’s harsh, MJ.”

“We’ve already figured out the straps for your next suit. And you can’t give the whole city the anti-freak-out practice you’re giving me – just Ned and May and Happy. You better not dance with Ned like this, though.”

“No worries, he’s straight, he wouldn’t be into it.”

“What, you would? I was kinda eye-rolling Ned about his jealousy of me, I didn’t think I needed to be jealous of him.”

“Nah. Ned’s been my best friend, but that’s it. Besides, he’s a horrible kisser.”

“You what now?”

He giggles. “I messed with you! I got you!”

“I would _so_ tickle you except you’d drop us like twenty feet.”

“Nah, but you wouldn’t like the recovery. Anyway, you’re busy telling me why we shouldn’t care about other people.”

“Eh, anyone else you swing, it’s to save them from nasty tentacular doom, so they’re already traumatized and they’ll just be glad to live through it. You have enough real things to worry about, let that one go.”

“That gets us down to practicing for big nasties, doing something fun, and this position being awful for kissing. Can’t wait to see how you put those together.” He has the sweetest smile.

“Let us down and de-web me, I need to stretch.” The stretch feels good, and so does the way he checks you out – much more fun than the blushing and looking away he’s done for so long. How much of this confident openness comes from wearing the suit? What does he give himself permission to do or be in it that he doesn’t otherwise? Hmm, you need more science …

Super-strength or no, his arms have been doing a lot of work in a similar position for a while, so you dig into a massage. Arms, shoulders, back, chest. You need a massage table.

“Ngah.”

“Was that, ‘thank you, MJ, you’re amazing, I never knew what I was missing after a day of swinging around New York admiring the architecture’?”

“Ngah.”

“You can do me later.”

“Ngah?”

“I innuendo with the best.” You stop at his waist. Too hard to do more while he’s standing … well, no, but you stop anyway.

He sighs happily and leans into your shoulder. “Dunno what that had to do with practicing for big nasties, but it _was_ fun, and …” He lifts his face. “… solves the kissing problem.”

You kiss him, but only briefly. Ten or fifteen seconds, max. Maybe thirty. “That was intermission. If your arms are good for more swinging, I think we should do piggy-front.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That takes care of fun and kissing. But I thought you wanted us facing the same way if I have to swing you for, uh, big-nasty purposes.” He gets that _I don’t think that sounded quite right_ look.

“I do. But if it happens, it’s gonna be whatever it has to in the moment. So we should practice this too.”

His mouth twitches. “Very practical.”

You jump up and wrap your legs around him. He catches you. “Make me a web-sling, you’re gonna have your hands busy.”

“I sure am! Oh, holding onto the webs, right … Same again?”

“Maybe one flip. If you hold me while you do it.” You hold on tight, but keep your eyes open.

He wraps his arms around you. “This good?” You nod. “One flip. Ready?”

“Do it.” He springs off the ground, everything tilts, _fuckfuckfu_-he lands. You squeak, but don’t scream.

“You ok?”

You let your breath out. “Yes … no more flipping right now, but … ok.”

He keeps his arms around you and kisses your hair. “MJ, every time I think I understand how brave you are, you show me I don’t even know.”

“Remember when Ms. Mendoza was talking about the kintsukuroi sidewalks in Brooklyn? Rachel Sussman filled sidewalk cracks with gold dust?”

“Uh, I feel like this just went sideways. What?”

“There’s this Japanese pottery where they break it, then put it back together but paint the cracks gold, or put gold in the glue. She did that but with sidewalks that were already broken.”

“OK. Cool. Why?”

“Nothing’s permanent. Things get broken. But you can make the broken spot – not perfect, but beautiful. When you dropped me, you cracked my trust. But you noticed, you asked, you listened, you were thoughtful and honest with me, you apologized, you promised to do right, and you have. So we’ve been repairing it. Now we have this, this … closeness, this moving together, this swinging, dancing, whatever this is, that we didn’t have before. That we’re still learning. Imperfect beauty.” _His face is so beautiful_.

He leans his forehead against yours and just holds you for a moment. “MJ, I … I really, really … oh, _really like you_ doesn’t even …” He bites his lip. “Will you dance with me?”

You find your phone and pull up exactly the right song.

Peter glimpses the screen before you slide the phone back into your shirt pocket. “_Leonard Cohen_? Mr. Harrington said his _granddad_ used to –”

You put your finger on his lips. “Shhh. Dance with me.” You let your finger wander across his lip, then replace it with a kiss.

_Ring the bells that still can ring _  
_Forget your perfect offering _  
_There is a crack, a crack in everything _  
_That's how the light gets in._

As the song ends, you draw back gently from his mouth. You lean back, letting his arms and the web-sling hold you, and gesture above to either side as though casting your own webs. He smiles. You put your arms back around him. He runs and leaps and casts, and you swing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “what Betty was on about”: When Peter returns to the Prague hotel after giving Beck EDITH, Ned enters the scene from one direction wearing a bathrobe. He later exits towards Betty’s room. When he arrives in Peter’s room later, he’s wearing pajamas with “CHILLING” on the front. Because presumably he and Betty just watched a little Netflix.
> 
> _Scotland Yard_: A board game in which, if you’re playing the criminal, it’s a disadvantage to be easy to read.
> 
> [Rachel Sussman and her sidewalk art](http://www.rachelsussman.com/sidewalk-kintsukuroi) are real.
> 
> Leonard Cohen: The song is [_Anthem_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bN7Hn357M6I).


	4. Falling

Whoosh.

Whoosh.

Whoosh.

Eyes closed. Your hands in his hair. Mouths hungry. Together you move and rock and swing higher and higher. You trust the web-sling, and trust him not to drop the webs holding you up, but you keep your legs tight around his waist. You can feel him – hear him –

Whoosh.

Whoosh.

Whoosh.

Suddenly his eyes pop open and he breaks off the kiss. “Wall!”

“What –”

He takes the impact on his feet, then you swing back away from it again. You laugh into his neck. _God his skin smells so good_. “Hurray for the Peter-tingle.”

He laughs resignedly. “Yeah … you’re absolutely the _only_ person I’m gonna enjoy hearing that name from.”

You’re nearing the end of the outward arc. “Can you catch the wall with your feet again, but … stay there?”

It only takes him a moment to figure that out. His breath catches, then he grins. “Gonna need our momentum back. Would you like to help out with that?”

“Only because you didn’t say ‘Yes, MJ, I can be sticky for you.’” He rolls his eyes.

This time the landing is much softer. He braces his feet, anchors new webs higher on the wall and lets them take the weight. You smile down at him. “You make an excellent hammock.”

Some time passes. Ten or fifteen seconds, max. Maybe thirty. He pulls his head back enough to say, “Do you kiss all your hammocks like this?”

“Only the ones that breathe like you’re breathing.” You gently tip his head back even further and kiss along his jaw. Run your hands over his arms, bring them trailing back and down his sides as his breath hisses out. Marvel at the perfect tension of him.

“MJ, I … I have to stop. I’m gonna drop us if we keep going.”

You still your hands on his chest. “OK, Peter. It’s ok.” You kiss his forehead gently, then lie on him, holding him close, alert to every breath and muscle shift but letting him find calm as your own breathing slows.

“I kinda need to let us down. I _really_ like exactly where we are, but, um, that’s kinda the problem …”

“It’s ok, Peter.” You kiss his cheek and look down past him to the ground. “Swing out and drop, or flip? You’d flip if it was just you, wouldn’t you.” Your voice maybe isn’t as matter-of-fact as your words.

“Yeah, but maybe ...”

“It’s ok. Flip if you want. I’ve got you.”

“I think right now careful is better.” His face says _Yes, you do_. He gets you down gently and de-webs you. “OK?”

“I’m fine. You? You were … having a French near-death experience?”

He very nearly just came under you, but his smile still manages to be a little shy. “I’ve never used my powers for, um …”

You raise both eyebrows at him. “There’s _one_ thing boys our age are famous for. Are you really telling me with _that_ body and those suspiciously symbolic web-shooters you’ve never …”

And he can still blush. “No, I mean, yes, I mean, I’ve – can we please not talk about that right now?”

You grin. “Not to brag, but some girls our age should be famous too.”

“Can I have your autograph?”

“Where do you want it?”

He clears his throat. “I’m, um, sorry we had to stop.”

“Peter, it’s ok. Really. I get to trust you to say no too, remember? Did … did I ask for too much?”

“You didn’t ask for anything I didn’t want to give.” He slides his hands down your arms and laces his fingers in yours. “I’ve never used my powers _with someone else_ for …”

“For what we’re doing.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, we _are_ practicing for real, because the threat _is_ real.” Daring him to call you on using truth for an excuse.

“Right, riiiight.” He laughs. “If we can ever save each other from a big nasty _that_ way, then um, sign me up.”

“Peter, I’d keep doing this with you even if there were no more big nasties. Not just for the … ok, I’m gonna stop acting like – I’m gonna stop _being_ embarrassed to say it. The sexual part. But even more than that. Because even though right now I’d still scream if we went careening around like you do by yourself, you helped me get past my fear enough, I can see how it might be … I want that, I want to share that with you. But, yeah, the, the sexual part, it’s …”

“Yeah.”

“That was pretty intense for me too.”

“Yeah?” That impossible grin. Delighted, mischievous, knowing.

You grin back. “I _know_ you felt me rocking on you.”

He shivers and his fingers tighten on yours. “Yes … _wow_. I never realized, um … using my powers for … for this kind of thing, I mean the enjoying-it-now part – no, you’re right. The sex part. It’s …”

“It’s kind of a thing?”

“I think it might be, yeah.”

“I’m ok with that.”

“It was … partly that I was using my super-strength to hold us up and you were … where you were … on me … and your body and how you were moving felt, um … and partly that I still had that responsibility to keep us – keep you – safe, even during … that … and partly that I wanted, just, _so_ _bad_ to wrap my arms around you and I couldn’t ’cause I had to keep holding on … um … all those things together …”

“I could tell it was … intense.”

“It was _really_ intense.”

“So … maybe someday.”

He laughs, a little shakily. “Yeah … someday.” He leans in and kisses you. Not a hungry-right-now kiss. (Mostly.) More a promise of hunger for the future. You revel in returning it.

“All we have to do is get me comfortable with the spinny-twisty-flippy bits – that’s gonna take a _lot_ of practice – and then find a really tall building so we can afford you letting us go …”

“I love it when you get practical. But, um, flashing all of New York City is _not_ part of this.”

You burst out laughing. “Oh, god, Flash!”

“Oh no...”

“So we were all in the media lab with Betty, right, and Flash – he really did make a nice post for you, linked to all the others, he’s trying – but he couldn’t resist a little snark. He’s all, ‘So, MJ, be careful – have you read _Man of Steel, Woman of Kleenex_?’”

Peter looks both embarrassed and exasperated. “Oh for – I don’t shoot holes in my walls, all right?”

You snicker. “No, no, it’s cool, I handled it. I was all, ‘So you’ve spent a lot of time calling Peter “Penis Parker,” Flash, and now you’re letting us all know that every time you think of him you think of orgasming. That’s great for you; I get it, I really do. But it’s not cool to make anyone else part of your public humiliation fetish without their consent.’ I looked real hard at Brad while I was saying it, too.”

Peter cackles. “MJ, wow, a two-target burn! Did they sneeze their own socks?”

“Flash just about did. Brad was all, ‘So I guess a normal guy isn’t good enough for you.’”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Brad!”

“Yeah, well, I handled him too. ‘No, Brad, a guy who treats me like a prize to be won in a pissing contest isn’t good enough for me. Do you realize _he_ never tries to humiliate _anyone_? He’s got super strength and control of all the Stark tech! He could flatten you! Instead he saved all our lives and tried to keep it hidden that it was even him doing it! So don’t talk to me about who’s good enough for me, Brad. I’m not with him for the strength or the tech or any of that. I’m with him because of who he’s chosen to be.’”

Peter just looks at you. How did you ever have to wonder how he felt about you?

“Guess I, uh, kinda went off on him. Gonna blame the adrenalin.”

He raises your fingers and kisses them. “MJ, anyone who looks at you and me together and sees one superhero and one ordinary person is just … blind.” He turns your hands and kisses your palms.

You draw him close and – your shirt pocket buzzes. You narrow your eyes and ignore it.

Peter runs his hands down your back as you share a slow kiss. Your pocket buzzes again. You growl. Buzz. Peter snickers. “Is that a foot massager in your pocket?”

You yank the phone out. Texts from your dad. _Need to talk. Please come home. A Stark Industries security team has been here all afternoon???_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man of Steel, Woman of Kleenex: Larry Niven being [cutesy/annoying.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Man_of_Steel,_Woman_of_Kleenex)


	5. Standing

Your dad isn’t an Avengers-level threat; you walk home. Peter comes along – you let him, to prolong the date, though you’re not about to put up with no longer going anywhere alone, if that’s what he’s thinking. You don’t ask. Some arguments are easier to win that way.

You hold each other’s hands, swinging them as you walk. Nobody else needs to know what you’re reminding each other of. Between trying to stay vigilant in the face of that distraction (you nearly walk into a trashcan - twice) and mentally rehearsing the coming talk with your dad, you don't talk much. “I’m dating someone” will be weird enough without “it’s Spider-Man and he’s not actually a murderer, kthxbye.”

But knowing Spider-Man’s enemies probably know about you by now and might try something any time puts that into perspective. It’s a more creeping fear than the terror-rush of nearly getting killed in fake-monster drama. _Great, I’m becoming a connoisseur of fear_.

Most people ignore you, or pretend to, even with Peter in his suit. Some acknowledge him, taken aback to see him holding hands with someone. A few glare, but the confrontation you’re dreading never comes. By the time you reach your building you’re ready to either rip apart anyone who looks at you crossways, or move to a deserted island.

Will you have to deal with _paparazzi_? No time to explain your groan to Peter - someone’s lurking outside the doorway. You slow down, expecting Peter to do the same, but he steps in front of you. Before you decide whether that's annoying or wise, the lurker straightens. “What – that’s our bus driver.”

Peter says to the lurker, “Dimitri?”

“Wait, how do you know his name?” You nudge Peter pointedly aside so you can step up next to him again.

“He works for Nick Fury. Dimitri, are you here as security for MJ?”

Dimitri looks at you. You look at Dimitri. You and Peter look at each other.

“Well, uh … thanks,” you say to Dimitri. You go inside, climbing the stairs together in silence. There’s a new palm scanner outside your door. When you scan your hand, it flashes red. You narrow your eyes.

“Lemme try something.” He puts on the glasses from Tony. “Edith? Please let MJ unlock her apartment door. Thanks.” He takes them off. “Try again.”

Scan. Green. Click. You frown. “Thank you, but … that was creepy.”

He nods. “I could see everybody’s texts on the bus, you know? I stopped looking, ’cause it felt icky.”

“This is my life now, I can’t get into my own apartment, but my boyfriend can control its locks.” You scowl. “Fine, the world’s bent on rubbing all our noses in the existence of powers greater than us. I just resent the little reminders. I’ll take _this_ intrusion over another big nasty, but ...”

He puts the glasses back on. “Edith? Any further access changes to MJ’s apartment need authorization from her or her parents. Confirm.” He put the glasses away and sighed. “Edith’s _scary_. I keep thinking Mr. Stark was nuts to have built her. Then I think about what I might face, and a huge supply of drones plus total information access through a crazy-good AI doesn’t seem like nearly enough.”

“For tonight maybe just don’t kill Brad, ok? Baby steps.” He grins. “My dad’s waiting …”

“Text me before you go to sleep, ok?”

You run one hand through his hair and kiss him. “Now go lurk.”

* * *

_he got shawarma palace takeout_  
_only does that when hes worried_  
_at least happy already talked to him about mysterio_  
_actually he said that helped but it was me he trusted_  
_he watched everybodys posts_  
_flash’s and brad’s helped most tbh_  
_“They don’t seem to like Peter very much, but they’re still vouching for him.”_  
_he wants to meet you tho_

_uh now?_  
_sorry was swinging_  
_see i didnt text and swing_

_: ) no i was all dad its late im tired_  
_he was like fine but tell him dinner tomorrow_  
_hope you like shawarma_  
_we need my dad to have his comfort food_

_yeah i do_

_gonna go to bed i guess_  
_should replace my bed with a hammock ;)_

_not as comfortable as you think_  
_i tried it early on_  
_besides that kind wont kiss back_

_so i should replace my bed with a hammock that would kiss back?_  
_hmm where can i find one_

_making it hard to sleep over here mj_

_yeah well fairs fair_  
_imma get famouser maybe then i can sleep_

_im all set with the spackle so im good to go_

_???_

_…in case i shoot a hole in the wall?_  
_theres an “extra-strength sock” joke there_  
_but im not gonna make it_  
_kinda cant believe were having this conversation_  
_but_  
_um_  
_I like it_

_dare you to say spackle at dinner tomorrow_

_i will if you say hammock_

_ha game on_  
_night_

_night_

* * *

Peter shows up in his going-to-the-opera outfit. Nice. You’re slumming in your Audre Lorde “Survival is not an academic skill” T-shirt and old sweatpants.

Peter’s on edge. Your dad is kind, though, and serious about trusting you. So he starts off with, “Come on in, Peter, food’s ready. My wife’s out of town, but from both of us, thank you from the bottom of our hearts that our daughter’s still alive.”

“I’m – uh – yessir. They kept themselves alive too, though.”

“Yes, Mr. Hogan did pander to my proud-dad side with a story about a mace …”

“If they’d let me keep it, I was gonna hang it up in a little hammock in my room,” you say blandly. “On display but still handy.” You raise one eyebrow ever so slightly. _Your move_.

“Bad plan though,” Peter says, not playing it quite as cool. “If it swung back and forth at all you’d have to spackle the holes it’d leave in your walls.”

You brush past him on the way to get plates and murmur, “Nice.” Your dad glances at you, with an _I don’t understand your flirting but it amuses me_ look.

Peter’s still twitchy as you sit down. Your dad notices too. “Peter, I remember being terrified the first time I met MJ’s mother’s family. She really mattered to me, so I was desperate to make a good impression. Breathe, ok? You’ve already saved her life; Mr. Hogan assures me that Mysterio’s video is misleading and that both he and Iron Man have – had – the highest opinion of you. MJ can make her own decisions about who to care about. I’m not trying to scare you off. Thanks to Mysterio it’s just a much bigger deal than dating would have been under normal circumstances, that’s all, so I really felt as MJ’s parent I should meet you.”

Peter takes a deep breath. “I – I know, Dr. Jones. It’s just the last time I met a girl’s father, he turned out to be the alien-weapons dealer I was tracking and he tried to kill me and then I saved his life, and now he’s in jail and she’s on the other side of the country. And it’s been less than a week since I got back from what I thought was gonna be a vacation and instead I made huge mistakes about trusting too much and nearly got a lot of people killed.” He glances at you. “And I don’t know what’s going on with the Avengers but I miss Mr. Stark and I might have to sort of take his place, and I don’t know how. And everyone keeps asking me what I’m going to do if aliens come back, and I’m like, I don’t know, panic? But I have to have a different answer if they actually do, and I don’t. So I’m kinda having trouble relaxing.”

Your dad listens to the first part of this as though wondering whether Peter’s pulling his leg, but by the end he’s showing a different concern. “Peter, have you seen a counselor? You’ve gotta be at risk for PTSD.”

“No, but I probably should. I didn’t sleep too well last night.”

_Run out of spackle before you tired yourself out? _ But he really does look worn. Under the table, your feet touch.

“Dad found me a counselor after the Blip, I like her. I can send you her info,” you offer. Peter nods around a bite of shawarma.

Your dad glances at the sensors now ringing the window and the other new security tech stuck around the room. He shakes his head. “_I_ thought I was gonna die when I spilled my very first forkful of spaghetti on my one and only dress shirt at that first dinner with Gran and Pop. You two are dealing with a whole other level of stress.” He chuckles. “Of course, how mean was it to serve spaghetti to a young man meeting his girlfriend’s parents for the first time! I teased them about that for years once I got to know them better.”

Peter smiles tentatively. “Thank you for not having spaghetti tonight. This is my only dress shirt too.”

“I’m not dealing in alien weapons either. I’m awesome all around.”

You roll your eyes at him. He grins back, then sobers and runs a hand over his braids. You push the shawarma container in his direction. “You’re getting your worried face on again.”

“Hon, I’m scared as hell about where this could go. Where it already almost went.” He glances at the window sensors again. “I’m really afraid for you, MJ. Nothing against you, Peter. If MJ’s decided you’re good enough for her, that’s good enough for me, and I see the way you look at her.”

Peter turns beet red. “Uh, yessir, s—”

You can tell the next words out of his mouth are going to be “sorry, sir.” You kick his ankle. He doesn’t quite hide his wince, but he does shut up.

Your dad notices, looks at you, looks at Peter, and bursts out laughing. “I _meant_ the look of utter adoration. Any other looks you give her are your business. You aren’t trespassing on my property; she can tell you herself if you cross any lines.”

Peter looks like he’s thinking about flipping out the window, alarms or no. You scoot your chair closer to his, put your arm around him, and give your dad a _shut up and move on_ look.

He takes the hint. “I’m scared, MJ, but I know you. You stand up for what you believe in, like you’re standing up for Peter now. I guess some parents would insist on a public break-up to get you off the bad guys’ radar, then constantly supervise you to make sure you weren’t sneaking off.” You narrow your eyes. He shrugs, only slightly apologetic. “It would really damage our relationship with you, but to save your life … we considered it. But we don’t have the right to make this decision for you – legally, maybe, but not morally. So, Peter, you’re welcome in our home as long as MJ wants you here.”

You feel Peter relax a little. “I don’t know yet how much risk there is, or for how long, or – I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting – pretty much anything that’s happened this summer.” He glances at you, still shy in front of your dad. “I did have a plan for part of it. But, uh, not this.” He fiddles with his fork. “Happy’s still figuring things out, but, MJ, we thought if someone tries something, they'll take your phone right away, so maybe you could wear a bracelet or something that would let us keep track of you and you could send an alarm and –” Your dad is nodding in approval.

You glare at them. “You thought the person who tells her dork friends to use VPNs would let you have a constant track on her? I even keep location services on my phone turned off!”

“I just – I can’t be with you all the time, MJ, and there won’t always be a handy vault with eight-foot-thick walls and maces lying around.”

“Well, I’m scared too, Peter! But I’m not gonna let this rule my life, I am not crawling into a girlfriend box and nailing it shut around me, I am not going to be subsumed into your life or become just a thing to be protected! People live on volcanoes! Pepper Potts didn’t spend her life with Tony in a cage.”

Your dad sighs. “Mr. Hogan and I talked about that, MJ. And he said, yeah, she had – has – a life and a job, but yes there was always risk that someone would attack her to get to Tony, or that she would just be in the way – need I remind you their actual home got actually blown up once?” You can’t find anything to say to that. But he’s not finished. “Happy also made it clear how hard it is to get close to the head of Stark Industries, versus a high school student. These security measures are like locks on cookie jars: they’ll only keep out the ones who aren’t serious anyway.”

You feel Peter’s shoulders tensing up again. Probably thinking about May and Ned too.

You want to be angry at your dad. But he’d just point out in his Reasonable Dad Voice that you aren’t being fair, that your anger’s really at the crappy circumstances and he’s just an available target. You don’t want to hear his Reasonable Dad Voice. He’s getting close to it already.

You almost tell him about the swinging practice, but you like this “trust MJ to make life decisions” kick he’s on. If you let Worried Dad think too hard about you being swung between buildings high above the ground … you make a life decision, and shut up.

Your dad frowns, glancing at Peter and sighing. “There’s another consideration too, MJ. If something big happens and the danger isn’t just to you, if Peter has to choose between saving you or far more than you, then I’m sorry to be blunt, but what will he choose?”

Peter stirs, but you don’t need to wait for his answer. “Dad, I’m with him because he’s the kind of person who _would_ make the choice you’re afraid of, and I’d never ask him to choose differently. I don’t want – I don’t want Ned-and-Betty. I don’t want sentimental and corruptible. I want true.”

He puts his hand on yours. “Because you have that integrity yourself. But your mom and I can be deeply moved that you’ve chosen someone who deserves you and he loves you back, yet still be terrified for you.”

When they met you at the airport, your parents hugged you so tightly you could hardly breathe. Your mom didn’t take her eyes off you the entire trip home. And yet, when you said you had a date, they took a deep breath, looked at each other, and let you walk out the door. And Peter – Peter let you go as soon as you tried to stand, and promised you’d be able to release the new suit’s straps yourself before you even asked.

You stand up. “Just a sec.”

You bring back a small box, open it and set it on the table. The chain and shards of black glass catch the light. Peter meets your eyes with a slight smile. Your dad might’ve been the only one to say _love_ aloud, but Peter always has his heart in his eyes. You smile back. “My life is worth protecting. But I’m protecting the life that I value, not the life I’d have if we did everything necessary to keep me completely safe. I won’t live a life where my boyfriend and Stark security know everything about every moment.”

You sit down again and nudge the box towards Peter. “I do like it better broken. But it’s served its purpose that way. Stick it back together and make it a sensor. It _only_ gets to send my location to you and Happy if I tell it to. Or if I suddenly go unconscious or something.” You squeeze their hands briefly. “I won’t live in a cage. But I’ll take a safety net.” You blink, trying to keep a straight face. “A safety hammock.” You point sternly at Peter. “But no gold sparkles in the spackle! I am not a gold-sparkle person.”

“Thank you for finding a compromise you could accept, MJ.” Your dad leans back in his chair, crosses his arms, and narrows his eyes at you humorously. “Now that the minor details are dealt with, however: I probably should _not_ ask, should I, why the words ‘hammock’ and ‘spackle’ make Peter turn a fascinating shade of red?”

You shrug. “Eh. Hang around superheroes and these odd coincidences just pile up.”

“Mmm … Peter, forgive me, but would you excuse us a moment?” Peter stands up. Your dad hastily adds, “No, no, sit, eat! We’ll step out.” He starts to stand.

Peter shakes his head and picks up the box. “Thank you, Dr. Jones – for everything – um especially for not being an alien-weapons smuggler and not trying to kill me – but let me go take care of this tonight. MJ, I’ll bring it to you tomorrow.” His face and body say _I want to kiss you_.

Your father takes the dishes over to the sink and becomes engrossed in cleaning them, more noisily than usual. He _is_ kind.

You walk Peter to the door. Some time passes. Ten or fifteen seconds, max. Maybe thirty. The buttons on his shirt are tempting, but …

After Peter leaves, you go back into the kitchen. Your dad stops doing dishes long enough to give you a big hug, then gets back to it. You grab a dish towel.

He clears his throat. “I don’t need to know exactly what hammock-and-spackle was about to suspect I have another parental duty here. Speaking of things that your mother and I are deciding _not_ to supervise you every moment for, um, pregnancy anytime soon might be a _really_ bad –”

“Dad! We aren’t even –”

“OK. But you’re not as inscrutable as you like to think. Not to mention Peter, who wouldn’t know inscrutable if it bit him. You ‘aren’t even’ _now_, but someday you might. If you need condoms or a prescription or an appointment to get an IUD, I’m not going to pry for details, I just want to make sure you’re safe. And anything else you want to talk to your mom or me about, we’re here. I hope you get to enjoy the good parts too, it’s not about just pregnancy and disease. OK?”

“I absolutely promise I am not going to have any kind of detailed discussion with either of you, ever, about the good parts.” He laughs. “But, yes, I’ll ask for help if I need it to be safe. I do know where the Planned Parenthood clinic is, Mom took me there for the HPV vaccine shots.”

He squeezes your shoulder. “Sorry to press all this very awkward discussion on you two after you’ve only been together, what, a couple days?”

“All dads are awkward, Dad, it’s a rule. At least you didn’t take _Peter_ aside to give him the ‘do not sully my innocent daughter’ talk.”

“Yeah, well, your old dad is the one who taught you the word ‘feminism’ if memory serves. I didn’t think you’d appreciate it if your dad and your boyfriend were the ones, uh –”

“Planning how to control my body? Way to subvert the cisheteropatriarchy, Dad, do you know _that_ word?”

“I actually do.”

“You may not be entirely lame after all.”

“Oh wow, I shall treasure the memory of this moment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Audre Lorde: [Black lesbian feminist, civil rights activist and poet](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Audre_Lorde). Given the feminist T-shirts MJ wears in Far From Home, I figured it was a no-brainer she’d be into Lorde.
> 
> HPV vaccine: [Human papillomavirus 9-valent vaccine for cancer prevention: a systematic review of the available evidence](https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5974698/)
> 
> I wrote [Jigsaw](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21087410) to figure out MJ's dad and their relationship as background for this chapter, and [Petrol and Toilets, Ten Minutes!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20320594) because I do not know What Is Up With Dimitri in FFH, in this story, or in general. He likes to show up and lurk ostentatiously, so I let him.


	6. Flowing

“If you hold it up to the light you can see the cracks.”

You smile at him. “Imperfect beauty. Thank you.”

“It’ll alert Happy and me to where you are and send audio – but only if you activate it, or your stress skyrockets, or you fall unconscious. A safety net, not a cage.”

You elbow him. “Safety hammock.” He grins and holds your hair out of the way so you can put it on.

“Help me find things to make sensors for Ned and May?”

“Ned’s watch. Jewelry for May – will she wear something you can afford? This necklace –”

“I, um, sold my Star Wars toys.”

You blink. Wow.

Your dad wanders into the kitchen, taking a break from work. “Morning, sweetheart. Hi, Peter. Oh, thanks for taking care of that so quickly. You two headed out?” Unspoken: Will you be safe, I’m worried, look at me letting you live your life, I’m still worried.

You nod. “We’ll be careful, Dad. Peter, maybe May’d let you use jewelry she already has?”

“That thick gold ring she wears sometimes might work.” He glances between your dad and you. Anyone else would only have seen nervousness in your dad, but Peter knows your face as well as you know his. He pushes his sleeves up to show his wrists, each encircled by a matte black bracelet with a narrow white stripe. “Last night, I was thinking about security when everyone knows who you are. Mr. Stark always had his suit with him and I decided I’d better do the same. He had a little more room in his for clothes than I do, so …”

He tenses his hands. Almost too quickly to follow, his clothes mold themselves to his body, flashing up to cover his head, and become the familiar red and black suit and mask. He shakes his head, gestures again, and the suit reverts to jeans, T-shirt (“Never trust an atom, they make up everything”) and hoodie. He sneezes. “Few kinks to work out. The nanites keep getting up my nose. But I’m never doing laundry again.” He sees the looks on your faces. “They – self-cleaning – never mind.”

“Well, I feel a bit better,” your dad says. “At least about your preparedness. Laundry issues, I leave to the two of you.” He ruffles your hair. “Now scoot, I’m not gonna be third wheel in my own home _all_ day.”

* * *

Peter sends Dimitri to May. You grab lunch and sit by the Unisphere to eat.

You notice Peter eyeing it. “Yes,” you say. “It would be a lot of fun. But too obvious now, and they light it too brightly at night.”

He laughs. “Bet I could get Edith to shut off the lights.”

“Probably, but you’re not going to.”

“I – how did you know?”

“Because your thing about using your powers for fun is fine when the powers are really _yours_ and using them doesn’t cost other people, but using Edith that way would be too much.”

“_My_ thing, is it? And you _would_ kick my ass at _Scotland Yard_.”

“OK, _our_ thing. And yep. I would.” A cute guy in shorts and a mesh crop-top wanders by. You enjoy the view.

Peter follows your gaze and grins. “Nice. Hmm, I can give this suit new targets to copy …”

You jerk your chin at a girl in a black-and-white halter top, shiny black shorts edged in white lace, black fishnets and boots. “She’s hot. Bet you’d look really good in that. And it’d match your bracelets.”

“I sure would. Not really my style though. Oh, wow, imagine the look on Brad’s face if I showed up to school in that.”

You giggle. “Or Flash. He’d just die. Or Susan! She’d be like, ‘Yep, male escort, knew it all along.’”

“Dimitri would give me the same look he always does.”

“Dare you to show up for an Avengers thing like that.”

“Thor’d be all, ‘Where can _I_ obtain such raiment?’ Whee, suit redesign here we come …” He snickers. “I feel bad for Flash, though. I think he doesn’t see much of his parents. They didn’t even pick him up at the airport, he seemed sad about it. And Edith showed m– I mean, I don’t have all the money he does, but at least I have May.”

“Says the boy wearing multibillion-dollar glasses and redesigning his super-suit at the drop of a hat, but yeah, I get you.”

“Speaking of. It does have straps for you now. I, uh, didn’t want to mention that in front of your dad.”

You snicker. “He gave me Version Fifty-Two of the Basic Sex Talk last night –”

“Yeah?”

“It’s fine. I didn’t tell him anything that would worry him much.” The intermittent light rain starts to pick up. You stand and offer Peter a hand. “We’re gonna get soaked.”

Peter grabs a fallen branch and spreads webbing among the leaves to make them a single spread-out layer. “Here, you can stand under my umbrella.” You crowd in with him, putting your arm around his shoulders; he puts his around your waist. “Mind if we go back to my place? I want to spend the day with you, but I should do May’s ring.”

“Sounds good.” You walk in silence for a while, still vigilant in public, though with Peter not so obviously in his suit, more people look at your odd umbrella than at you. “So I’ve been thinking …”

“Yeah?”

“About swinging. I’m unscared enough for survival. You’ll be careful, we’ve got the straps, you’re not gonna drop me again. If there’s a big nasty, I’ll deal with the spinny-twisty-flippy.”

“I told Happy I wanted to practice with all of you. He’s nervous about it but he liked the idea for May, so he said we could use one of the Stark facilities. It’s got a high roof with beams and cranes, and we can lock it and go to town. Uh. Practice.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. He rolls his eyes, but bumps his hip against yours. You bump back. “So, testing the straps. But after that …” That gets a smile. “I thought about diving lessons this summer, or gymnastics. Sounds like work though. Maybe we could do tango, ice-dancing, something where you learn to move together. That sounds fun.”

He stops right in the middle of the sidewalk. “Do _you_ have a thing about using your powers for fun too? You keep getting all practical and problem-solvy in the _best_ ways.” His smile turns a little shy. “I’d love tango or ice-dancing with you. Not just getting to move together – I mean yes, that – but – you’re still trying to turn your fear into something amazing. I love that about you.”

You kiss him, then tug him back into motion. “I’m growing strawberries.”

“You mentioned strawberries before too. Look, this is me following you sideways.”

“Zen story. Dude goes over a cliff to escape a tiger, ends up hanging from a strawberry vine just out of its reach. Looks down, there’s another tiger below. Looks up, there’s a black mouse and a white mouse nibbling at the vine, it’s about to split. He’s totally gonna die. He eats a strawberry, and it’s amazing.”

“And then what?”

“That’s it.”

“But what happens?”

“Dude, there’s tigers in his past and tigers in his future and the day-and-night Mice of Time are making sure the vine’s gonna go, what do you think happens? The story isn’t about his death itself, just its inevitability. Experiencing the moment because that’s all you’ve got. He chooses to taste the strawberry.”

You reach Peter’s building. He lets you in, then hands the makeshift umbrella to a man sitting against the wall holding a sign: “Displaced in Blip, please help.” He squats to speak quietly to the man – about May’s work, you assume – then comes in.

He’s soaked, and you let him see you checking out how the wet clothes cling. He grins at you, then shakes himself, after which his clothes look nearly dry. He flashes his bracelets at you. Yeah, thanks, you figured it out.

There’s a new palm-scanner outside his door, too. He tells Edith to let you in with or without him.

“I’ll, um, have to work in my room, May has stuff spread all over the table out here. Go ahead, it’s right through there. I’ll be there in a second, she said the ring was on her dresser.”

You pry off your boots and flop onto his bed. It smells like him. You close your eyes and just breathe until he comes in, then open them to find him smiling at you, heart in his eyes again. _I’m in his bed_ – you shy away from where that thought leads. “Your hair still looks like a fake water elemental got you.”

“Mmm.” He grabs a towel off the floor, sniffs it, shrugs, and towels his head.

“Ah. Now you look like you just jumped through the roof of a bus to save us all from a killer drone.”

“I – you knew about that?”

“Not exactly what you were doing til you told me about the drones later. But please, ‘look at the baby mountain goats’? You were obviously desperate to distract us. It’s like noticing where the magician _doesn’t_ want you to look. Seeing that leap was when I went from 50% certain to 67%.”

“Oh.” He shakes his head. “Right at the end, Mysterio made an illusion of himself holding the glasses out to me. And it was like: no. He fooled me the first time by holding out what I wanted – someone else, someone worthy, so I could pass the responsibility but still tell myself I was doing the right thing. And there he was holding out what I wanted again. I mean it was all this split-second – I never even put it into words until now, I just reached for where he _didn’t_ want my attention.” He blows out a long breath, but his shoulders still look tight.

You consider him for a moment, then sit up just enough to take your shirt off before flopping back down. He stares. Opens his mouth, shuts it again. Did you look like that when he took his shirt off in Prague? Probably. “Have I got your attention?”

“Uh.”

“Thought so. Do you trust me? Like, a lot?”

“Uh … yes?”

“Good. If I shag you silly and then steal all the Spider-Man gear in this room, does that mean you’re a gullible fool whose only responsible course of action is never to trust anyone again? Or does it mean I’m an asshole abusing the gift of trust you’ve given me?”

Slowly, his shoulders relax and he starts to grin. “Can we talk more about the part where you shag me silly?”

You put your shirt back on. “I’m dating someone who has an amazing gift for trusting and being trustworthy. I really like that person. It’d be a shame if they let one asshole convince them they should blame themselves for everything, never share or let go of their burdens, and mistrust anyone who tries to direct their attention towards something they want. Because – ” You stretch, arching. “I’m gonna keep directing their attention to something they want, and they’d better not start distrusting me when I do.”

He sits on the edge of the bed, taking your hand and drawing his fingers lightly over your palm. “Kinda can’t believe you just did that.”

You shrug. ”Wouldn’t have, for anyone else. But when the fastest way to the center is sideways, then for you …” You poke his hip. “Not to undermine my relax-and-let-go point, but go be responsible, Spider-Man, make May’s sensor ring thing. Because _I’m_ not going to use what you want to pull you away from what you need to do.”

He smiles. “You’re not undermining anything. You’re underlining that I _can_ trust you. I need a little room to work, though …”

“Don’t even think about evicting me from my comfy place.”

He settles on the floor with a tray, leaning against the bed, drags out various tools and gets to work. You close your eyes again and let your fingers wander through his hair. He turns his cheek to your hand briefly.

After a few minutes, he says, “It’s more than just tasting an amazing strawberry. That makes it sound like the moment will always be sweet if you focus hard enough. But it isn’t. I had to run across the tops of all these poles in Venice. Jump between hundreds of drones trying to kill me in London. Judge a swing just right to skim the river ’cause my suit was on fire. And then on the bridge with Mysterio …” He trails off.

You open your eyes. He’s concentrating on some fiddly bits with the ring. All right. You text him your counselor’s contact info and shut your eyes again.

“Thanks … The pole-jumping could have been fun by itself. That huge swing to skim the river would have been awesome, except for being on fire. And everything else. But – Avengers stuff – there’s no time for words. No time for thinking. Just – flowing through the world in the moment. Being intensely present, whether it’s strawberries or tigers. Without that, my other powers would just be, I dunno, flailing. With tigers _everywhere_.”

You trail your fingers over his ear and jawline and down his throat. “Being intensely present sounds like a really promising power. I’m using it right now.”

You feel him swallow. He says softly, “Me too.”

Neither of you speaks again until he finishes May’s ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "sold my Star Wars toys" (to pay for the black dahlia necklace): From a deleted scene.
> 
> “girl in a black-and-white halter top … stand under my umbrella …”: There’s an [original song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CvBfHwUxHIk), and there’s [what Tom Holland did with it](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b0nNTklOKRA).


	7. Soaring

Peter sets the tray aside and leans back against the bed. He catches your hand and kisses your fingers. “I should get this to May.”

“Mmm.”

“And get Ned’s watch.”

“Mmm. Comfy.”

He stands, leans over and kisses your forehead. “Wanna stay here? I’ll take the tools and the ring, go take care of things, be back in a couple hours.”

“Mmm.” You don’t need to open your eyes to pull his head down a few inches for proper kissing.

“Oh, and you did say I could do you later …”

“Mmm?” That’s almost worth opening at least one eye for, but before you make the effort, he’s massaging your shoulders. “Mmph.” Apparently you still have some tension, because it promptly disappears. You mumble something about his superpowers feeling good, but you don’t hear his reply, or notice when he leaves.

* * *

It’s late afternoon when you wake, and still raining. You’re warm and comfortable and the bed still smells like him; you’re not going anywhere. Fight gravity _and_ rain, what are you, a superhero? You amuse yourself making a playlist. _Movement_. _Cliff’s Edge_. _Move Your Body_. _Pa’ Bailar_. _Peligro_. Less death-focused than usual, but as much as you love _You Want It Darker_, it’s not what you’re looking for.

Your phone buzzes.

_almost there im even skipping the glass buildings_

_if you break your neck texting and swinging in the rain imma mock you harshly_

He bounces into the apartment. “OK I _mostly_ skipped the glass buildings but there was one that was right on my way …” He towels his head off again. “That looks really comfortable …”

You scoot over so he can sit down. “Ned and May have their safety nets?”

He nods. “May let me do one practice swing, then said if any big nasties show up she’ll throw bananas at them since if she can vanquish me that way she can handle anything I can.” That calls for an eyebrow. “And Ned said after getting stuck in that Ferris wheel in Prague he was _not_ dropping from heights just to see what it was like. So I guess it’s just you and me.”

_Cliff’s Edge_ is stuck in your head. _Imma flirt with that _… _get a little closer, get a little closer …_ You smile slowly. “Guess so.”

His answering grin makes your breath catch. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, palm to palm; you pull him down to you. Some time passes. You’re intensely present.

> _Caving and crumbling on your_  
_Hips, your lips, they're mine_  


Eventually you murmur, “Where exactly are we going here, because this _has_ happened in my head but it’s kinda scary now that it’s real.” Peter nods against your neck. “It’s so tempting to say ‘if your clothes are all technobabble now, is there a _remove_ function?’ or point out that you can’t drop us here …”

Peter laughs softly. “There _is_ a remove function, and it’s _really_ been on my mind, but – not without asking you what you wanted.” He strokes down your side where you’d guided his hand to push your shirt up, watching his fingers move on your skin, and lets his hand rest on your hip. “Not without talking about what we both want.” He meets your eyes. “Speaking of things that are scary to say.”

You run your hand through his hair. “Once before you asked how I felt and I lied, because I was scared. Then I almost lost you. I’m still scared, but – I want you. I’m done pretending I don’t, I’m done hiding – at least from you. I want it all, friendship and trust and stupid jokes and checking out hot people together and swinging and dancing and moving and I want to be naked with you and I want to know what it’s like when we don’t stop.” You take a breath. You’re not sure Peter’s breathed at all. “But less than a week ago we were each pretending the other didn’t just catch us staring. This feels … um, it feels _wonderful_ and I love it. I’m just not sure I’m ready to get everything I want yet. I – I told you I hadn’t had much luck getting close to people.”

He glances down along your bodies, then cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m super-lucky now. But it’s making me nervous. I trust you a lot. But I don’t really know what I’m doing. I don’t want to screw this up.” You smile slightly. “Also, I didn’t want to go to Planned Parenthood this morning with Dimitri tagging along.”

Peter grins. “Yeah, that’d put me off too. Of course, there’s only one Dimitri. So I did go.” He nods to his backpack. “Condoms – if we need them. But that’s just me, uh, using my responsibility super-power.” He smiles at you wistfully. “I love exploring with you, MJ, I _love_ it, you’re so beautiful – the way you move, the way you think, you make me laugh, you’re so brave, and just, just, everything about you is so amazing. I’m just – so much has happened lately. I don’t want you to think I don’t want you. I do. I’ve dreamed about this. About having sex with you. Um, when I’m asleep, too. Um, I mean the dreaming was when I was asleep, not that I was dreaming about … argh, you know what I mean. But – once before, I got offered everything I’d dreamed of, and I said – not _no_, but _not yet_. I – want to take our time. I trust you a lot, too. I just … I want to learn our ground together, before we fly.”

“You fall off walls thinking about me. You don’t have to convince me you want me. And you don’t have to make your case for what you’re ok with. If I can say _I want, but not yet_, so can you.” You take your time kissing him. His hand tightens on your hip.

“I think clothes better stay on for now. Once they come off, I don’t want to stop.”

You can feel the pulse in his neck under your fingertips. You let your fingers drift to the hollow of his throat. “Me either.” You hesitate. “And I don’t – I mean, I do want to – but – I’m not ready to come with you. Not yet. I –”

“OK, MJ. It’s ok.”

Some more time passes, with quiet _can I_ and _will you_ and _like this_ and _right here_ and _not yet_ and _yes_.

> _You are a call to motion …_  
_When you move, I’m moved_  


Eventually it grows dark. Some time after that, your stomach growls.

You never knew you can hear someone smile in the dark, if you’re close enough and it’s quiet. “May is having dinner with Happy tonight – don’t ask what’s going on there, I don’t think they know either.”

You stretch against him. “If we stay here much longer I’m gonna rethink every boundary and, uh, right now I’m having trouble thinking of any downside to that … So: this has been _amazing_, but I’d really like to know the straps work, what with my life maybe depending on them and all. How about dinner and a fancy date at a Stark facility?”

“Ooo, you have responsibility superpowers too? Dead sexy. Maybe you can do some posters to hang up at school next to Captain America. ‘Always test the straps, kids.’”

You push him off the bed. Of course there’s no crash. You’re sure whatever feat of Spider-Man dexterity you missed in the dark was very impressive.

* * *

“Edith, while MJ and I are here, don’t let anyone else in without my confirmation.”

You follow him through stacks of containers to a large open area covered several layers thick in gymnastics mats. You laugh. “Yeah, Happy has feelings for May.” You bounce on your toes, looking up at the steel beams crisscrossing the ceiling high overhead.

“Nervous?”

“Some. Honestly kinda excited though. I wanna try some of the spinny-twisty bits. Just a little.”

He looks delighted. “Let’s start from the top of that container stack. Oooh, I can leave the mask off! Excellent! I almost never get to do this without it.”

You test the straps together (science gets your heartrate up), then you stand close behind him and let them fit themselves to you.

“I can climb up slowly, or –”

You grin. “The fast way. One, two –”

He leaps, webs to the ceiling, pulls, and releases. You sail up and onto the container stack. You try to match at least the timing on the jump and landing, bumping your chin on his shoulder both times. You laugh. “Swing us over to that one!”

You play together for an hour. Leap, cast, spin, twist, swing, flip. Drop, whoosh, rise, release, stretch, soar, cast, drop again – neither of you can stop smiling.

> _Your body's poetry, speak to me_  
_Won't you let me be your rhythm tonight?_  
_(Move your body, move your body)_  


He gets hugged a _lot_.

Finally, atop the highest container stack, you release the straps and step back. “How are you not even breathing hard! I’m not even the one bearing the weight and I’m _done_.“ You flop onto your back and pant. “Sublimation is hard work.”

He drops down next to you and strikes a pose. “It’s my amazing body, what can I say?”

“Oh that is _it_!” Abs, neck, knees – anything you can reach is fair game. He squeaks, then shrieks, then tries to counterattack, but you get to his armpits. You nearly roll off the edge together, but he webs the far wall and you stop, both giggling. You kiss him. “Thank you! You still better never drop me ever again, but thank you so much for this.”

He’s glowing. “Isn’t it just the _best_?” He hugs you jubilantly. “Thank _you_. For telling me what I needed to know, for trying again, for sharing this with me – thank you for all of it.” He looks around. “Could we swing for real? Outside? I have a surprise for you, if you’re ready. It can wait if you’re not.”

“Mmm … dark and rainy out there. This isn’t a sliding-on-glass-buildings kind of surprise, is it? Not ready for that.”

“Oh, someday I _have_ to take you to Vagelos and Via and the IAC! Those are my favorites! But no. Roof of my building. We could go back, you know, the normal boring way and climb up.”

So you do that. The rain’s stopped, but everything’s wet. He rummages in a corner and comes back with a cardboard box, soaked but still holding together.

“A soggy cardboard box? Decay, surrounding emptiness? For me? Oh, Peter, you shouldn’t have!”

He wrinkles his nose at you and pulls the box open. You try to see inside, but he twists to shield it. “Close your eyes.” You do. “I got these on the way back from upgrading Ned’s watch. Some for now, and plants to grow more for later. I – I want to grow these with you.” Something brushes your lips. You inhale the scent of fresh strawberries. You smile and accept the gift. It tastes amazing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MJ’s playlist and other mentioned music (the first three have quoted lyrics in the text):  
• Hayley Kiyoko, [Cliff’s Edge](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ZfCUM1uyvw)  
• Hozier, [Movement](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OSye8OO5TkM)  
• Sia, [Move Your Body](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0GoGcVs6pbU)  
• Bajo Fondo & Julieta Venega, [Pa’ Bailar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hakfpNpLTDw)  
• Gotan Project, [Peligro](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EsYVPlFj6_s)  
• Leonard Cohen, [You Want it Darker](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YD6fvzGIBfQ&list=PL4SnPCOcKRxZzfa0Mn8y32mr2AR6hOqMx)
> 
> "swinging in the rain": OK, one more reference to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b0nNTklOKRA).
> 
> MJ and Peter’s talk in his room: [Wheel of Consent, Dr. Betty Martin](https://bettymartin.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/final-Wheel-Letter-Size.pdf)
> 
> Peter’s favorite glass buildings: [Roy and Diana Vagelos Education Center, Via, Frank Gehry IAC building](https://www.timeout.com/newyork/blog/the-ten-craziest-looking-buildings-in-new-york-062016)


End file.
